Immortal
by X-WolfHunter
Summary: Present day vampires and werewolves, navigating New York City in weaves of subterfuge, crime, intrigue, and other interesting crap.  Don't worry, nothing like Twilight, no cheesy romance.  Just a fun little side project.
1. Prologue:  The Very Beginning

**Okay. I know this has no place in FanFiction, but have you been to FictionPress lately? It absolutely SUCKS. So I'm posting it here anyway.**

**No, this** **has nothing to do with cheesy romance or anything. I just thought it would be fun to write a story about vampires, werewolves, and a different creature I came up with (No name for it yet, but there will be soon). So . . . Yeah. Enjoy.**

**Oh, and no, this will not affect my writing Dead Space: Trio at all. In any way, shape or form. The stories will still come out at most a week apart, and they won't stop for a while. This is story is kinda like a side project of a side project (DS: Trio is my side project to writing a full-on novel. Ask me about it some time, but not if you're afraid of a really lengthy reply)**

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><p><em>1861<em>

The wolves ran down the alleyway, leaping over a fallen dumpster and skirting around a car. They suddenly stopped. Snow fell gently through the air and the wind blew, ever so slightly. The biggest one sniffed a few times, then smashed through the brick wall on the left side of the alleyway. The other wolves followed, leaping through the small hole the first wolf had left behind and emerging in a large, echoing pitch-black room. The wolves snarled; their eyesight was not as good as their target's, and the target himself knew that. Their eyes gradually adjusted until the room was only dim. There was a flicker of movement on the rafters, followed by a hissing noise. The wolves tensed, their heads snapping up to look at the source. A bat-like creature jumped from the rafters, gliding unsteadily to the ground. It hissed once more. One of its wings had a large gash in it. Blood still dripped from it.

"Why have you chased me so?" Came a raspy voice.

The biggest wolf howled, and stepped forward. The bat-like creature hissed and spat a glob of liquid at him. The wolf howled as his fur hissed and melted, his flesh becoming raw as layers of it dissolved to liquid. He shook his body, knowing the creature's acid could not harm him any further than pain could; already, the wound was healing. Soon it would be nothing more than a scar.

"Leave me be!" The bat-creature rasped before spitting another glob at a different wolf.

The creature leaped back into the rafters and began clawing at the roof in a last-ditch attempt to escape. One of the wolves leaped up and grabbed the creature's leg with its jaws, dragging it forcefully back to the ground and slamming it down. The creature was dazed and didn't get back up immediately, giving the wolves all the time they needed to rip the wretched beast apart. The scent of blood filled the air as the wolves howled their delight.

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><p>Outside, a man in a thick black cloak stood by the house, listening with super-sensitive ears to the goings on within the building. He cocked his head as he heard the wolves finishing their meal. He heard the familiar bone-crunching of transformation, and listened as humanoid footsteps grew closer to the door he was standing beside. The door creaked open.<p>

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><p>The biggest wolf, now a large man clad in a rudimentary loincloth, opened the alley-side door to the building he'd just smashed down the wall of. He stepped outside into the swirling snow, his feet crunching into the few inches of powder that had collected into the ground. He halted, his nose flaring, as he smelled a foreign sent - one he had not smelled in a very long time. He looked around in the moonlight for the source of the very fresh smell. His eyes were immediately drawn to a patch of snow ten feet in front of him, where the smell pooled and gathered. He walked to it and saw two footprints - one left foot, one right foot - but nothing else. He looked up at the rooftops on either side of him, but saw nothing but perfectly undisturbed snow on both sides. The man stared in silence for many minutes before sighing.<p>

"Let us run." He said, leaping into the air. Before he hit the ground, he was a wolf once more, soaring through the side streets of the city as a blur.

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><p><strong>Before you ask, yes, I am a fan of excessively short prologues. Fear not, for Chapter One is on its way soon. <strong>

**Read, Share, Review, Repeat. Adios!**

**-Wolf**


	2. A Rough Introduction

**Welcome, one and all, to the grand opening of . . . Immortal, Chapter One! Applaud! Wooo!**

**So, yeah. I make no claims that this series will be good, nor that it will be any length, nor that it will not cease to exist at any given moment.**

**I'm trying something new this time: Naming my chapters! I know, it's crazy, right? Well, Imma do it.**

**Remember, guys, this is a side project's side project. I'm not even planning this story out (As far as writing down individual chapter goals and required events, like I do for DS: Trio). So, again, there is _no _"quality assurance badge" on this story.**

**That being said, I hope this won't be a turn-off for you for me. Meaning I hope this doesn't make you think I suck at writing. Because this is just a time waster for me.**

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><p><em>Present Day<em>

"Look," Said a young looking man dressed in all-black clothing. "I honestly couldn't care less _how_ you get it; only that you _do_ get it. Okay? In fact, I'll go so far as to grant you permission to do whatever you need to do in order to get it. Kill anyone, torture anyone, eat anyone - hell, rape anyone for all I care. But if you accept this assignment, I'll need it by the full moon, or I'll personally track you and your . . . _pack_ down and end all of you. Got it?"

"Hmm . . ." Said a large man wearing a trench coat sitting in a chair opposite the gothic young man. "Your methods are . . . unorthodox, considering what you are and what I am . . . But I can see why you chose to do it this way. It makes more sense for you, but you know what? I'm willing to take the risks associated with this job. The payment you're offering is too good for me to resist. Even if I listened to my pack, they'd agree wholeheartedly. I accept this assignment. I'd be . . . _glad_ to help you." The man grinned.

"Then get down to it." The gothic man said impatiently. "I'll get the documents ready."

The trench-coated man stood up with ease and stood hulking before the gothic man. The gothic man, however, was unimpressed. He made a shooing motion, to which the man turned around and exited the room. The gothic man stood up from behind a mahogany desk and turned to look out the wall-sized window behind him. He looked out at the bustling of New York City at night; the cars, the people, the planes, even the occasional helicopter or two.

And it was all his. Nobody knew it, of course, but in truth it was. It was _his_ city, and he had a problem. Not one problem. Two.

First there was the newcomer, Asthalos. He liked to be called Adam, a more modern name. Asthalos posed a major problem to the system that he had took so much care to grow and blossom into power: A system of fear, hierarchy, and reason. A strange combination, but it all worked out in the end. Until, of course, Asthalos had decided to jam a stick in the gears of his "government."

And then . . . Then there was "it." He hated using "it's" name. It sent shudders of fear coursing through his body. Normally, "it" wasn't a problem. "It" was a solution. But ever since Asthalos had stolen "it," "it" had become more of the former than the latter. So he had arranged a meeting with someone from the "darker" side of New York. This man was reputed to be one of the best in his business: Mercenary work, and odd dirty jobs that nobody else wanted to touch, like assassinating children. Of course, to the guy, it was more like getting paid to eat a snack.

He paid the guy and his pack to get "it" back from Asthalos before the full moon, or "it" would become Asthalos' truly and they would all be screwed.

There was suddenly a rap on the door.

"Mr. Cavat Johansson?" A muffled female voice asked timidly.

"Come in." The gothic man turned around and sat back down at his desk as the door opened. The most stunningly beautiful girl he had seen entered the room then. Everything about her was flawless to his eyes: The hair, the eyes, the lips . . . Her bosom, the shapely legs, the tight stomach. Everything was flawless. His eyes widened in shock at her stunning appearance. He mastered himself quickly, and his face returned to the mask he normally wore.

"You are?" He asked.

"I am June." The woman replied. The gothic man, Cavat, took a deep breath through his nostrils. He smelled vampire blood on her, in her, but she was not a vampire. She must be a vampire's slave. Pity. He wanted her for his own, but she was claimed already.

"And to what do I owe this . . . pleasure?" Cavat asked her.

"I come from a certain well-known vampire's inner circle. I am his representative. But before I go further, do I have, shall we say, 'diplomatic immunity?'" She flicked her hair back as she said this, blinking her startlingly emerald eyes at him. Cavat blinked.

"No, I can't say you do." He replied. June blinked right back at him. She shifted her pose to be less revealing and more business-like.

"Very well, then." She said, her tone darker than it was before. "I am one of a vampire known as Adam's slaves. I have been sent here to do three things. Thing one is to tell you that you in no way, shape or form will be able to overpower me. Thing two is to give you a message straight from Adam's mouth: 'I would like to meet you, alone, to discuss recent developments in our relationship.' Thing three is to deliver your message back to him. Which is?" June said this all rather swiftly, as though eager to return to her master.

"Adam. You mean Asthalos?" Cavat asked. June nodded. "Well, well, well. He has misjudged me. I obviously have no intention of letting you leave. In fact, I may just . . . keep you. I'm sure I could think of _some_thing to 'use' you for." June sighed.

"I hope you're not thinking of trying to overpower me. Do you remember what the first thing I said was?"

"Oh, don't you worry, I think I can handle you. You're not even a vampire - just a slave." Cavat said confidently. "But even so, I think I'll just do this." Cavat pressed a button under his desk. A buzzer sounded outside the door. He reclined backward and grinned confidently. And remained that way for moments before frowning. He pressed the button again. The buzzer sounded, and again, nobody came. Cavat's eyebrows furrowed.

"What is this?" He asked. He turned on his security monitor and checked the camera right outside his door. His guards were lying in a pool of their own blood, their heads separated from their bodies. He gasped before switching to another camera. He only saw a repeat of what he had seen before. He repeated the process, but no matter how many cameras he checked, he could not exhaust the supply of gory vampires in the building.

"Seen enough?" June asked.

"How?" Cavat gasped. June lifted something off the floor next to her. It was a sheathed sword. He felt the sword calling to him, begging him to use its power.

"You have 'it?'" Cavat whispered.

"I do." June grinned, unsheathing the sword. Its call grew louder. Cavat was the sword's true master - for now, at least - but not even he could use it without fear.

"How can you use that?" Cavat asked, terrified.

"I'm not a vampire, remember?" June whispered, her face inches from his. She swiped the sword in a swift and decisive arc. The sword screamed in anger that it should be forced to be used against its master, but it still separated Cavat's head from his body.

"I'll take that as a 'no,' okay?" June said to Cavat's body. She knew he was not dead. None of the vampires in the building were. But it was as close as she could to get to killing a vampire without spending hours on the task. She stood up, sheathed the sword, and walked out of the room, calmly passing all of the cleaved vampires until she came to the front door of the tower. She scratched something on the front desk, next to the secretary's bloodied head, and left the building, not even looking back. She hailed a taxi and sped off into the New York City night.

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><p><strong>Yaaay, you managed to read through that pile o' crap. :) Just kidding. I don't think it's crap - otherwise I wouldn't have wrote it.<strong>

**Read, Share, Review, Repeat! That's my motto! **

**Adios! Wolf out!**

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><p><strong><em>SUPER AUTHOR'S NOTE . . . ACTIVATE!<em>**

**_Hey, all, X-Wolf here again. I'm from the fuutuuure . . . OooOOOoOoOoooOOoOoh . . . So, I just have to say that unless I get a barrage, and literally a barrage, of requests for this story to continue, it is now closed and will receive no more additions. There are no reviews as of now, so I  
>can see obviously that nobody really has an interest in it anyway. So, yeah. That's it. No more Immortal. I've got the story about Nadaar Oversaay to work on now, and it's waaay better than this hunk o' junk.<em>  
><strong>


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